


The Pain We Reap

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel (hinted at), Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Season/Series 13, Sexual Harassment, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22730743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Sam and Dean are captured by demons who have a request the two brothers refuse to fulfill, and the demons aren't willing to play nice.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Pain We Reap

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this _started_ because of the prompt on tumblr **Please, guys: I'm begging you, have your whumper slowly drag the tip of a knife down a shivering whumpee's spine** by @whoopsitswhump, but I took it, added a ton of other tropes, and gave them all steroids. So have fun! Sam and Dean sure didn't!

Dean had a sack over his head, and a gag in his mouth. His wrists were bound tightly in front of him, and he was getting shoved and dragged along, the air growing cold, smelling dank. Sammy was beside him, most likely being given the same treatment. His brother must’ve put up more of a fight against the demons than him, because there’d been a brief pause, the meaty smack of a fist finding flesh, and Sam grunting out hard.

Dean now struggled to go to him, and he was grabbed by the back of the head, forced forward so hard his neck strained, hurting.

Dean was kicked down some steps, Sam falling beside him, but before they could even try to register the pain of the stone that had cracked against them, they were getting picked up again. He was shoved against the wall, and his hands were getting bound by more rope, lifted up, and surely being tied to a ring in the wall.

Finally, the sack was taken off of his head, and Dean breathed in hard through his nose.

Sam was to his right, behind him, and they were in a filthy, dark dungeon of some sort, light filtering in through a hole in the roof. A rickety table was in the center, looking worn and bloodied. 

Dean had been knocked on the head before his capture, so he struggled to even remember why this was happening. Were these Asmodeus’ demons, or Lucifer’s? They surely couldn’t be others that were left over from Crowley’s rule, unless perhaps a small faction had managed to survive and not meld in and fall to heel. They could blame Sam, and Dean for their former king’s death.

Great.

There were a few demons, all big, and burly. One stayed as the others left. He held up Dean’s phone.

“Now, who wants to be a good boy and call our friend Castiel, huh? Just need him to lower the bunker’s warding. We’ll be in and out. You have something we need.”

Dean craned his head around, met Sam’s wide, terrified eyes. There was sweat on his brother’s face, his neck. Dean had uncomfortable pinpricks that told him his body was reacting the same.

“No?” the demon asked, as they both looked back to him.

“Alright, well I’ll give you some time to think about.”

After the demon left up a dark staircase, Dean squirmed, struggled, pulling at his restraints till the rough rope stung and burned against him, biting into his skin, and drawing blood. Then he had an idea, and twisted around as best he could with his hands tied to the wall. And he did it till his spine ached, surely pulling something in his neck. His gag was near Sam’s hands. And Sam reached out, having the same idea. They struggled, fumbled, but finally the gag was free from Dean’s mouth, and hanging about his neck.

“Any plans for getting out of here?” Dean asked, voice low, not wanting to alert any demons that were most likely on guard.

Sam just stared, panicked. His eyes started darting about, and he pulled at his ropes, heaving till his wrists were bloody. And still he pulled.

“Hey, hey, Sammy, it’s okay.”

Sam moved his mouth about, trying to get his gag out, but it was tight around his head.

He spoke, voice muffled, and Dean didn’t know what he was saying, but he could see in his eyes that Sam was worried. What could be striking that worry? They’d dealt with demons before. It was an everyday thing to them at this point. But maybe…

“They can’t be doing this for Lucifer,” Dean said, even though he didn’t know for sure.

Sam tensed at hearing that name. Dean swallowed roughly. Sweat trailed down the back of his neck.

“Look, I know he’s back, but he’s not gonna get ya. Not while I’m still kicking. We got this.”

A different demon tromped down the stairs, and Dean promptly shut up, but there was no way to hide that his gag was out of his mouth. He faced him down with defiance. Another demon soon followed.

They ignored Dean, going for Sam.

“Hey!” Dean screamed. “Hey! _Hey!_ No!”

He was punched in the gut, the air being driven out of him. And he was handled roughly, gag getting forced back in his mouth, even though he tried to bite. Sam fought hard, but was punched directly in the temple, and then kicked in the back of his knees. He fell forward, and he was slammed against the table.

“ _Mm! Mm!_ ” Dean screamed, needing this to stop, not sure he’d be able to handle seeing his brother get hurt.

And was all his damn fault too. Why couldn’t he have just listened to Sam and hightailed it out of town with him when things started getting all wrong?

Sam was too dazed to scream, just groaned as he continued to be bent forward over the table on the shorter side, his arms getting tied to the legs.

A knife came out, Sam shifting, tugging. Dean pulled at his restraints till his hands were numb, and the pain had stars flurried in his vision. The knife was used to cut off Sam’s flannel from him, and then his T-shirt was grabbed and ripped open, exposing his back, his clothes hanging off of him in strips.

Dean was shaking his head, fierce, angry tears in his eyes.

“ _Get off of him!_ ” he tried to yell, but it came out as, “ _Guh oh uh uhh!_ ”

The wicked, curved blade glinted in the light that poured down through the dusty hole in the ceiling. And the knife was dragged along Sam’s back, as he shuddered. The demon made sure to get right up against him, intimate with his violence, but only hungry for blood.

The other demon had a fistful of Sam’s hair, keeping him steady as he trembled and struggled.

“So, anyone want to call your buddy? Come on, Dean, it’s your brother’s blood on the line. Surely a little call to your boyfriend isn’t so hard. What about you, Sammy? You’re Cas’ little pet, right? We all know you like being an angel’s bitch, so why don’t you go ahead and show us? Make the call.”

Sam surely glared defiance at him, and Dean went silent. He couldn’t let these monsters into his home, and not with Cas. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. And god, what if they were looking for Jack, or something related to Jack? Dean couldn’t do it. Yes, he’d hated Jack, but because he’d needed to be mad at someone for Castiel’s death. It was easier to blame a person than it was a silent god, and a merciless, muted universe. But Cas was back. And now Jack was gone.

The demons certainly could want something to do with him.

And even if he didn’t, that was their _home_. He wouldn’t have it get ransacked and gone through like it was nothing. It had already been compromised too many times in the past, and so recently by the British Men of Letters only months before.

So Dean just stared them down, a defiant _no_ in his eyes.

A slice was ripped down Sam’s spine. His muffled screams were loud, his body straining, heaving. Dean was screaming with him.

Blood ran over his skin, and down to the table, dripping off his sides.

Another slice.

_Another._

Dean wanted to get his gag out of his mouth so he could beg them to stop. Sam tried kicking, but the demon with the knife put it against his throat. Dean’s eyes wide went, panic sparking in him hot and tingly, and scraping down his spine.

He bit at the gag, he worked it around in his mouth as best he could. He felt the gross, worn fabric wearing down a bit, but it wasn’t enough. Spit dribbled out of his mouth.

The knife was then passed towards the other demon, and he kept it against Sam’s neck as more rope was used to tie up Sam’s legs.

“They weren’t kidding down there when they said you were a fighter,” the demon tying him up teased.

And oh god, was he really staring at Sam’s ass now, leering?

“Must’ve given Lucifer a hell of a lot of fun during those Cage fights.”

Sam growled, body going taut, muscles bulged and hard. Dean stamped against the floor, kicked at the wall.

The demon with the knife pointed at him with it. “You’ll get your turn, pretty boy. You’ve got a mouth I’d like to carve up.”

He froze, trembling with terror. But he didn’t give up trying to get free as the knife was passed to the head torturer once more, and Sammy was cut up.

Dean had stopped counting the marks of torn flesh marring his brother’s back, but each time the knife came close, he found himself trying to do so through blurring, unshed tears. He could never continue counting.

His body was numb, tingly, and even with the gag he screamed his throat raw, Sam doing the same.

Eventually they let Sam be, blood covering his back, soaking his torn clothing, and down into his jeans. It puddled on the table, even spilled off to the floor. His face was pale, hair slick with sweat. Dean fell back against the wall, panting, dizzy.

He was approached, the gag ripped out of his mouth with a bloody, unkind hand. His skin became marked with his brother’s suffering.

The phone was held up.

No speaking was necessary.

Dean spit in the demon’s face.

That earned a hand on his face, a nail slicing against his lip, finger forcing its way too far up into his nostril, one of his eyes nearly getting poked and pushed at. His head was slammed back against the wall, leaving a stain of blood against the rough stone, and bursts of sharp, throbbing pain within Dean.

His knees gave out, and he slid down. The hand turned into a fist, punched at his ribs. Dean’s air was forced out with a deep grunt, and pain exploded in his side, aching as he breathed.

The son of a bitch had cracked one of his ribs.

Still, Dean didn’t regret spitting in his face. Not after what he’d done to Sam.

“This one doesn’t know his place,” he said, turning back to his partner.

“Why don’t we show him?”

Sam was temporarily released from his restraints, and before he could collapse to the floor he was tied to the wall again. He fell to his knees, arms straining as his hands were forced to stay up. His head hung, eyes glazed over and dazed, agonized moans leaving him.

He gurgled, spit going down his chin, as he tried to lift himself up when they started getting Dean ready for the table. Dean fought, but was turned around and thrown hard against it, head cracking on the wood.

Everything went black for a few seconds.

When he came to he was getting restrained, lying flat in Sam’s blood, the metallic-tasting liquid right up against his lips and splashed onto his cheek, his head forced to the side. A tear fell, trailing into his hair.

_Oh, Sammy. Oh god, Sammy, I’m so sorry._

Dean didn’t have his clothes torn and ripped from him like Sam. Instead he faced up, and the back of his gag was grabbed, tugged on, strangling him. The other demon grabbed his jaw, trying to force his mouth open. Dean inhaled quickly, knowing what was coming with his fight.

And sure enough his nose was pinched, almost hard enough to break it with just the slightest movement. He held his breath as long as he could, till his cracked rib was shrieking at him, and his head pounded, black spots in his vision.

When he inhaled, his jaw was taken ahold of, and the knife was placed into his mouth. Pain flashed through the inner part of his cheek, in his gums, and blood filled his mouth till he was choking, sputtering. It splashed up on his lips, and his face.

Sam was groaning, and there was scuffling as he tried to rise.

_Cas, save us,_ Dean prayed.

A phone was ringing, a call that had been put on speaker.

Dean’s voice came out in choked, strangled breaths.

“Dean!” Cas’ all too familiar voice came from the phone. “Dean? Are you okay? I heard your prayer. What’s wrong?”

Dean cried out, blood flying up and trickling down his chin. His body heaved in a sob.

“Dean!”

Sam groaned.

“Sam?!”

“We want into the bunker, Castiel,” the demon holding Dean’s gag said. “You have something we need.”

“The only thing you need is a blade through your heart!”

The demons laughed.

“Ooh, he’s got bite! Wonder how much he’ll have left if we video chat. Pretty boy angel, wanna see your boyfriend?”

The call was switched over to a video chat, and through waning, blackening vision, Dean could see Castiel’s frantic face. He was appalled, horrified, furious, and pained, even.

“Let them go!”

Dean’s mouth was sliced into again, his back arched as he gurgled out a scream.

Sam hadn’t found his strength to stand, but he roared, face planted against the wall, too weak to hold his head up on his own.

“I’m going to make you regret the day you went to Hell,” Cas growled. “I’m going to carve all your sins out of you, and smite you into _ash_.”

“Tough words for an angel with broken wings. We heard Heaven’s failing. How’s that going?”

As if just for fun, the blade bit at Dean’s left cheek now, and he sobbed.

“What do you _want?_ ” Cas asked.

Dean struggled, but had a hand forced against his injured rib. He squeezed his eyes shut, and went still at the pain, body instinctively knowing how to not make it worse.

“Your boy.”

“ _No._ ”

Did the demons not know that Jack was missing?

Dean supposed that did make sense. It wasn’t as if all celestial and supernatural entities were in a monster group chat with each other.

“Well, then you won’t mind if I remove Dean’s tongue, will you? You don’t need it, right? Haven’t gotten him to eat out that nice ass of yours yet? Doubt he ever will.”

Dean shuddered with revulsion at the violating taste to their words. But of course they were sexually harassing them. They were demons. It wasn’t the worst thing they could do.

And already his tongue was being grabbed, knife up against it, even pressing in, having more blood fill his swollen, stinging, aching mouth.

“Wait!” Castiel screamed. “I’ll bring him! I’ll bring him. Just send me your location.”

“We want to see him,” one of the demons demanded.

“No,” Castiel snapped. “That’ll only alert him to danger. You don’t want an angry nephilim to deal with, do you?” Silence met him. “I’ll bring him. Tell him… Tell him… I don’t know, something. I’ll get him here.”

“You’d better.”

They hung up on Castiel, and Dean tried to get a look as they punched in coordinates, but he was getting moved off the table, gag getting forced back into his swollen mouth. They couldn’t get it in, and they gave up once he was tied against the wall once more. It wasn’t as if he could talk anyway.

Dean pressed his forehead against the stone, breathing hard, all of him hot and cold at once.

“ _Sah-hee… Sah-hee…_ ” Dean grunted.

“ _Mmph,_ ” was the only response he got.

The demons left, surely taking up their guard outside the dungeon. Dean slowly slid down the wall to his knees, arms held up uncomfortably now. Blood dribbled down to his neck. It was hard to breathe in that position, and painful with his rib. His head pounded, vision seeming to fuzz, reality shifting around him.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he and Sam knelt there, tied to the wall like that, or how much blood they both lost. Dean was in and out of consciousness, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Sam was too.

Eventually he heard fighting, heard repeated sphhhlt!s of a blade driving into bodies, taking life from them.

Castiel tumbled down the stairs, landing on his back, blade skittering towards Dean after it fell from his hand. The demon that remained, one Dean hadn’t been tortured by, jumped down the steps he’d just kicked Castiel down.

Castiel dodged, scrambled away as a booted foot came down just where his chest had been. Dean got his leg out, awkward in this position, muscles pulling painfully, and he toed at the angel blade.

Sam did the same, striking out with a long leg, and kicking it over to Cas’ waiting hand.

Just as the demon grabbed Cas by the collar of his shirt he stabbed up into him, and he sparked out in orange light. Cas kicked his body away as he fell, blood splattering from him. It collapsed with a heavy thump.

Castiel was breathing hard from the fight, but he hurried up, rushing to them, on his knees before them. There was a gentle, affectionate palm against Dean’s cheek. Castiel’s other hand was against Sam’s.

“Sam? Dean?”

They groaned, raised their heads to meet his worried blue eyes in recognition.

“I’m so sorry. My Grace — I don’t have enough of it.”

He got to his feet, releasing them from their restraints, cutting at the ropes that had cut off their circulation and taken blood from them. Before they could collapse to the floor, Cas crouched down and somehow caught both of them. But he was struggling, mostly under Sam’s sheer size.

“I’ll get you home,” he promised. “I’ll get you home.

“ _Sah-hee, Sah-hee urrst,_ ” Dean begged. “‘ _Elch ‘ihh urrst._ ” Hopefully Cas understood. Take care of Sammy first.

Castiel nodded, rested Dean against the wall, and took the gag out of Sam’s mouth before helping him to his feet. Sam leaned heavily on him, and Dean’s vision grew weak as his brother was helped out of the dungeon.

Dean felt cold and lonely for long minutes, and then Castiel was by his side again. His phone was getting placed into his pocket, surely having been retrieved during what must have been a few moments of unconsciousness for Dean.

“I didn’t know they would do this,” Castiel asked. “I didn’t know they wanted him so badly. I should’ve— I should’ve _done_ something! Kept you away, kept him away, or—”

Dean met his eyes and gently shook his head at him. He put a hand against Cas’ cheek, stubble rough against his palm. Castiel paused, slowing down, just breathing deeply, looking at Dean.

“You’re right,” he admitted, knowing what Dean meant without words. He helped him up, arm about his waist, other holding onto his arm that was slung over his shoulder. “I’ll get you home.”

They got up the stairs, and Dean trampled with clumsy feet over to the Impala, which was parked by the secluded, dirt road twenty feet away. He slumped against Baby as Castiel got the door open, and then he collapsed inside.

“Thank you,” Sam got out from where he lay in the back seat, voice hoarse.

Castiel nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. And then he went around to the driver’s side and got in.

The engine purred and rumbled with life, and Dean let out a relieved sigh.

It was over.

Oh thank god, it was over.

For now.

They still needed to find Jack, and apparently others wanted him too.

God, what was Dean doing loving that kid?

Even with the pain, he somehow knew it was right.


End file.
